


Welcome to My Nightmare

by orphan_account



Series: In Dreams of Memories [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Brett Talbot, Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Dark Stiles, Death, Derek Is Only Mentioned In Flashbacks, Dreams and Nightmares, F/F, M/M, Multi, Pack Dynamics, Plot Twists, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Theo Raeken, alpha mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6954184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's strange," Stiles says to Lydia, voice barely above a whisper as if the banshee would be shattered by a louder volume. "It's like that episode of Buffy. The last thing I remember saying was, 'I wish I'd been bitten instead of you!' Somehow, this isn't what I'd had in mind."</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Stiles wakes up in what seems to be an alternate reality where he was the one bitten by the Alpha, and he'd very much like to wake up from this nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue/Welcome to My Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello, I am taking a break from bandom because I just marathoned all five seasons of Teen Wolf and I just had to write something. This is currently a work in progress, so consider this a teaser chapter. Depending on the response, I'm not going to post any more until I've finished it completely. Ciao, loves xx

Stiles knows he’s dreaming the second he opens his eyes because the first thing he sees is Theo, hovering over him, his stupidly pretty face a mask of bone-shattering concern. Even though every fibre of his being is screaming that this feels more real than anything he’s experienced in the last four years, his brain is screaming back that it has to be a dream because the last time Stiles saw Theo, he was literally being dragged kicking and screaming into a hole by his long-dead sister. The Theo Stiles knew also wouldn’t be looking at him with that expression on his face.

Before he can even begin to contemplate the fucked up depths his brain seems to have taken him to, all his senses suddenly rush him at once, and his eyes slam shut as he groans, sounds crashing together in his ears and a myriad of smells assaulting his nose nauseatingly. There’s a dull, throbbing pain in his stomach like he’s been slammed into by an eighteen wheeler. _Or run through with a wolfsbane laced spear_ , his inner monologue helpfully supplies, and Stiles frowns.

“What the hell is going on?” He means to ask it calmly, but it comes out as a growl that shocks him, and it’s answered by several whimpers from around the room. Blinking his eyes back open, Stiles squints suspiciously when he sees Theo still loitering beside him, hand held just above Stiles’ chest like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch.

Deciding to ignore Theo for the moment, Stiles rolls his head to the side to try and work out what nightmare land his subconscious has dropped him in this time. It’s Derek’s loft, apparently, and Stiles has had many a dream set Derek’s loft, only they usually involve less clothes and more sexy touching. And Derek is usually there, not Theo, Mason, Malia, and – what the actual hell – _Isaac_ , who are all crouched around him anxiously.

Stiles blinks again, because it’s the only thing he can think of to do, and groans again too. Just because he can. He sits up, elbows wobbly but oddly strong beneath him, and Theo finally makes up his mind, hands closing over Stiles’ shoulder and helping him upright. That’s what makes Stiles snap; the soft, gently touch, almost _familiar_ against his skin like Theo’s touched him a hundred times. Like Theo has a _right_ to touch him after everything he’s done.

The roar Stiles lets out has those gathered around him diving for cover behind the miscellaneous furniture in the room. Stiles leaps to his feet, staggering slightly as his senses almost get overrun by all the sounds, scents, and emotions in the air, and he scrubs his hands over his face in an attempt to clear his head. “This is a dream, this is a dream, this is a dream,” he chants, pulling his hands away and discovering long, cruel claws where his nails should be. “This is just a _dream!”_ he roars the last word, can’t help it he’s so overwhelmed, and the windows rattle.

Malia snarls from where she’s wedged behind the couch, and Mason whines, eyes flashing gold. What the fuck? Stiles can feel his breathing getting laboured, his overly HD vision beginning to swim with black spots, and his mad dash for the bathroom isn’t short enough. Stiles’ grip on the sink is so strong he can hear the porcelain splintering and grating under his hands as he retches violently, splattering the white with black gunk. A vile, oily taste fills his mouth and nose, his eyes watering as he continues spitting it up. Vaguely, some distant part of his brain acknowledges it as his body rejecting wolfsbane poisoning.

Outside, he can hear the others arguing with each other, Isaac yelling, ‘Theo, no!’ just as the bathroom door is nearly ripped off its hinges. Stiles whips around to face the chimera head on, imagining he looks quite the picture with black bile staining his chin and clawed hands thrown out slightly as he practically tears his own lungs out with the ferocity of his booming howl. He’s ready for a fight; ready to end this dream now.

Theo freezes in his tracks like he’s been slapped, and his head falls to the side, neck bared and chest quivering as he whimpers in distress. He looks over at Stiles from under his lashes, and Stiles takes a physical step back at the bright blue wolf eyes. Time slows down as Stiles turns back to the sink, heart hammering in his ears as he raises his gaze to the mirror. Staring back at him over a set of near-nightmarish fangs are the glowing red eyes of an Alpha.


	2. Vertigo Blankets My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he’s next mentally aware of what he’s doing, there’s glass all over the floor and claw marks in every piece of furniture. As if separate from his body, Stiles is glad that there appears to be no blood on his claws – it looks like he hasn’t attacked anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the overwhelmingly positive response, here is the first chapter. I feel the need to warn you that this is going to be a little hectic and all over the place for the first few chapters as Stiles sorts his head out. There'll be disjointed flashbacks and stuff. Anyway, I plan on regular weekly updates every Wednesday or Thursday. Ciao loves xx

“I’m getting real sick of waking up to your face,” Stiles snaps before his eyes are even open properly. He must have fainted. His back is cold, the pungent scent of wolfsbane and cleaning agent tells him he’s still in the bathroom, and Theo is crouched beside him, hands shaking as they prod tentatively at Stile’s side. Stiles doesn’t know what reaction he’s expecting, a sour glare or pinched smirk maybe, but it’s definitely not the flash of deep hurt and confusion that clouds Theo’s face. Stiles elects to ignore it again. He has bigger concerns than hurting Theo Raeken’s feelings.

Like how he’s suddenly a werewolf, and an Alpha at that. And why he hasn’t woken up from this crazy ass dream.

“Theo,” Malia appears in what’s left of the door of the bathroom. “Theo, get back.” She’s eyeing Stiles warily, and he realises that his claws and fangs are still out, and there’s a low, steady rumbling deep in his chest, threatening to turn into a full growl any second. “Theo!”

Looking torn, Theo whines as he jerks his hands off Stiles and scoots back slightly, crawling up to his feet before ducking under Malia’s arm and disappearing from sight. Malia stays where she is, hands held out in a placating manner as Stiles’ lip curls up, snarling around his fangs, eyes still that bright, bright red.

“It’s just me, Stiles,” she breathes, and Stiles tilts his head appraisingly as her voice quivers. “It’s just me, you need to calm down. You’re scaring everyone.”

“Scaring…scaring everyone? I’m scaring myself!” he barks. “I’m trapped in a fucked up dream and I can’t wake up!”

He’s standing before he’s even finished thinking about doing it, and Malia backs up a step, eyes flashing blue and her head twitching to the side, but she holds her ground, clearly hell bent on protecting the others. Some part of Stiles swells with pride at the stubborn determination on her face. “You’re not dreaming,” she whispers, as if afraid of saying it too loud.

“What?” Stiles’ hand twitches, and he can feel anger bubbling up inside him. Absently, he wonders if this is how Liam feels before an episode. “Of course I’m dreaming. This is a fucked up product of too much strange shit and not enough sleep.” He stalks up to Malia, getting in close and personal with the werecoyote, who valiantly stands her ground even though Stiles can scent anxiety rolling off her in thick, foul waves. “If I’m not dreaming, then what the hell is going on?” he snarls at her, before his voice drops dangerously low. “If I’m not dreaming, then why am I like this?”

“I don’t know,” Malia answers honestly. “You were turned long before I came to town. You know that, Stiles.”

Stiles growls, more a half-howl than anything. “Do I, though? Do I _really_?!”

This dream feels like he’s possessed by the nogitsune again; the lack of control over his emotions and actions; watching himself do things without even realising he’s done them. Like knocking Malia into the wall and sprinting into the main room again. There are more people there now, Kira and Jackson and the twins, the three boys standing in front of the other betas almost like guard dogs as Kira slowly edges around Stiles to kneel beside Malia, brushing her hair away from her dazed face.

“WHAT IS GOING ON?” Stiles bellows. “You’re supposed to be dead!” he points at Aiden. “And the three of you left town years ago!” he sweeps his clawed hand at Ethan, Jackson, and Isaac, who’s peeking around Jackson’s shoulder. “You’re in Mexico, you’re a human, and _you_ ,” his hand passes over Kira and Mason and lands squarely on Theo where he’s curled up behind Ethan’s legs, one eye visible behind the twin’s knee, wide and fearful. “You’re supposed to be rotting in hell were you belong!”

A gasp rises up around the room, and eyes flash, more blue than Stiles has ever seen in one room. Mason, in fact, and Kira obviously, are the only ones without the cold glow. Theo vanishes completely behind Ethan, but Stiles can still hear his stuttering breaths as he chokes on what sounds like sobs.

“He thinks he’s dreaming!” Malia finally manages to pant out, and when Stiles turns to her, he sees her hands and Kira’s slick with blood, pressed over five deep cuts over her chest. He looks down and sees the claws on his left hand dripping with blood. He hurt Malia. Stiles blinks. “Guys, he thinks this is a nightmare. There must have been something else mixed in with that wolfsbane!”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles hisses, pacing slowly in a circle so he can see them all. “This has to be a dream.” His head is rushing again. He really doesn’t want to pass out for a third time. “This is a dream. Where’s Scott? Where’s Scott? He can wake me up, he knows how to wake me up… Where is Scott?!”

There are others missing, now that he’s thinking about it. Lydia and Liam are both suspiciously absent. The longer he’s in this dream, the more real it starts to feel, and more dream-like his memories of before seem to become. Stiles is freaking the fuck out. Dimly, he feels guilty for ever making fun of Scott and Liam for losing control, because the more his brain starts to emotionally shut down, the more the wolf starts to take control.

The wolves around him are all reacting, growling and whining with bared necks and flashing eyes. Even Kira, while still trying to staunch the blood flow from the slowly healing wounds on Malia’s chest, is glancing nervously up at Stiles, orange eyes a beacon in the half-dark of the room. With these unwanted wolf eyes, Stiles can see her fox spirit for the first time, and even it, in its seven-foot fiery glory, seems to be cowering away from him.

“WHERE’S SCOTT?!” Stiles bellows, voice breaking into that double timbre Alpha voice he’s heard from what feels like everyone except himself. A crack appears in the glass of the big bay window and starts spider-webbing out from the sheer volume of his voice, and Stiles loses it completely.

When he’s next mentally aware of what he’s doing, there’s glass all over the floor and claw marks in every piece of furniture. As if separate from his body, Stiles is glad that there appears to be no blood on his claws – it looks like he hasn’t attacked anyone else. The others are all hunkered down in the far corner of the room, the twins and Jackson and Isaac still playing guard dog, crouched over the younger or weaker members of the pack. The bitter, biting scent of their fear is what finally breaks into his head, puts a crack in the volatile fog that had settled over his mind.

Someone in the middle of the huddle was on the phone while he was raging out, Stiles can hear the dial tone, and someone else is still whimpering quietly. Stiles is ninety per cent sure it’s Theo, and something foreign tugs in his chest. He doesn’t even want to contemplate the implications of that. At some point during his freak out, he’d logically accepted that this is probably not a dream, but he still doesn’t want to believe it, intellectually. And he’s still freaking out, sort of.

The sound of the elevator moving snatches his attention, and he whirls around to see Brett Talbot striding confidently into the loft, leaving two Betas in the doorway that Stiles can’t focus on, especially when Brett’s eyes flash red and he feels like he’s being challenged. _Not in my own home!_ that voice in his head helpfully snarls, and he snarls out loud at Brett.

“Woah, Stiles,” he murmurs softly. “Hey, hey, calm down. Mason called me, said you were stabbed with a wolfsbane laced spear?” Behind Brett, Stiles sees one of the Betas creep out of the elevator and disappear into the clumped group of werewolves. “Hey, look at me Stiles. You’re still freaking out.” Stiles manages to drag his eyes back to Brett, red on red, and he takes a shaky breath. “Come on, you’re better than this. You’re a better Alpha than this.”

Stiles shakes his head absently. “I’m not an Alpha. I’m not a fucking werewolf… I’m not. I can’t be…”

Brett takes his moment of distraction to close the distance and wrap his hands around Stiles’ biceps firmly, forcing the other Alpha to focus on him. “Hey, come one. You’re one of the strongest Alphas in Beacon Hills. What three things can not long be hidden? The sun, the moon, the truth. Come on, you know this one. Say it with me. What three things can not long be hidden?” He shakes Stiles once to get him talking. “The sun…”

“…the moon…” Stiles gasps. “The truth.” He can feel himself calming down. “The sun, the moon, the truth. The sun, the moon, the truth.” This is familiar. This is working.

“The sun, the moon, the truth,” Brett says with a smile, letting go and taking a step back. “There we go.”

Stiles feels his claws retract and his fangs recede, and his vision gets a little duller as the red fades away to reveal his usual brown irises. “Fuck. Fuck. Oh my god.”

Brett laughs. “Wow. Haven’t seen you lose control like that since you got your first Beta.”

“My first…” Stiles’ blood runs cold.

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Isaac drawls, elbow propped up on Jackson’s shoulder. “You freaked out and threw a fucking desk chair at me.” He laughs a tiny bit, but his face is still taught with worry, the nerves palpable in the air around him.

Stiles presses a hand to his forehead. Even though his brain is saying that _Derek_ is the one who turned Isaac, that scenario does sound familiar. His knees get weak as something flashes through his mind.

-

_“Stop looking at me like that!” Stiles yelps, trying to hide his face in his hands._

_Isaac makes a soft noise in the back of his throat from where he’s perched on Stiles’ bed. “Like what?”_

_“Like I saved you!” Flailing, Stiles promptly tips himself off his desk chair. “When all I actually did was turn you into a monster!” He’s having a panic attack. He can feel it in his bones. He’s only been an Alpha for three weeks and he’s already bitten someone. He’s so fucking bad at this. “Fucking Derek…” he mutters to himself. He glances up, and Isaac still has that big, blue-eyed stare trained on him. “Oh my god, stop!” it comes out as a roar, but Isaac doesn’t even flinch, even as the desk chair comes sailing towards his face._

_Batting it away, it crashes into the floor and a wheel skids off and smacks into Stiles’ knee. “You can throw all the chairs at me you want, I’m still gonna look at you like this,” Isaac informs him smugly, arms crossed and that infuriating grin on his face. “You saved my life, Stiles, and you can’t change that.”_

_“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Stiles chants as Isaac laughs at him. “Oh my god. What am I going to do with you on the full moon?”_

_Isaac crawls off the bed and sits down next to Stiles on the floor. “Hey, it’ll be okay, man. You really did do something great for me. You made me strong enough to stand up to my dad. You gave me a place to stay until I’m back on my feet. You even defended me from that dick at school.”_

_“Jackson’s just misunderstood,” Stiles says mildly, voice muffled where his face is still half squashed into the carpet. “Just ignore him and he’ll go away. And don’t feed him after midnight.”_

_“How old are you?” Isaac scoffs, but he’s smiling brightly. It’s a good look on him._

_The good mood is soured by Sheriff Stilinski making an appearance in the doorway, brows creased and face set. “Sorry to interrupt, boys,” he says sombrely. “But, I need to have a word with Isaac. It’s about your father.” He takes Isaac out into the kitchen, and Stiles tilts his head, listening down through the floor. “I’m so sorry son, the EMTs found your father’s body an hour ago. We’re calling it a homicide.”_

-

“He’s passing out again!” someone’s voice floats through the air, and Stiles groans as he feels the floor rushing up to meet him.

“Oh not again…” Stiles mumbles as his body goes lax.

Hands suddenly grab him before he hits the ground, small and hard, jolting him slightly. “I got you, Stiles,” Malia says, breathing still a little laboured. “You might have shredded my favourite shirt, but I got you.” She helps him sit down, keeping him upright until his head stops spinning. “You stupid Alpha, you, freaking us all out.” She’s half muttering to herself, half chastising Stiles, who frowns, not sure if he should feel admonished or if he should discipline his Second for talking to him like that.

Wait. His Second?

“Sorry, Mom,” he mumbles sarcastically. “Fuck, this is weird. I have no idea what’s going on.” An earlier piece of the conversation finally registers with his brain. “Wait, wolfsbane laced spear?!”

The tension in the room suddenly dissolves know that they all know that Stiles isn’t going to die or rip them all to shreds. A few of them chuckle awkwardly, and Aiden wanders away to examine the remains of the couch and see if he can salvage it. Someone clears their throat, says softly, “He needs to go see Lydia.”

Stiles looks over Malia’s shoulder to where Theo is sitting huddled against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest and his face angled down and away from everyone else. Brett’s Beta is sort of awkwardly squatting next to him, patting his shoulder comfortingly and whispering to him so lowly that Theo’s probably the only one who can hear him. Theo shifts slightly, grabbing the Beta’s hand for a second in thanks before looking up at Stiles and the others, face pale and drawn and his eyes slightly red-rimmed.

The half of Stiles’ conscious still stuck in the, well, the Other Place, swells with a sort of horrible vindictive happiness at seeing the bastard who’d caused them so much pain in pain himself, but that part is being rapidly squashed by the half from this apparent reality, which is screaming _Mate hurt! Protect mate!_ at the top of its metaphorical lungs. Stiles balks slightly at that, but he’s on his knees in a second, scrambling over to Theo and causing the other Beta to dive for cover behind Brett as Stiles reaches out hesitantly and touches the tips of his fingers to Theo’s cheeks, gently moving his face up so they’re eye to eye. “Are you okay?” Stiles asks softly, surprising himself at the tenderness in his own voice.

Theo shrugs half-heartedly, but he nuzzles into Stiles’ touch never-the-less. “I will be. Pretty sure our first meeting went a little worse than that.”

It’s just like with Isaac. The memories Stiles thought he’d had of meeting Theo; Scott being attacked by Belasko and Theo swooping in to ‘save’ him, asking to join the pack; fade away like a dream as the new memory surfaces.

-

_“I’m sorry, repeat that please?” Stiles asks smoothly, staring down this…this creature standing before him, all chiselled lines and pretty eyes and charming smiles. He slants his eyes over to where Isaac and Malia are standing half in front of Kira and Mason, and his smile grows a little. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you just ask to join my pack?”_

_The creature tilts his head defiantly. “I did. I came back to Beacon Hills to join your pack, Stiles.”_

_Stiles snorts, letting the red bleed into his irises. “I don’t know how you heard of us, Theo Raeken, but you don’t just_ join _the Hale Pack. Besides,” he takes a step closer, right up in his personal space. “I don’t let_ mutts _in my pack.” He whispers the words, mouth curling up in a grin like they’re sharing some great secret._

_“M-mutt?” the cocky façade cracks slightly, the slightest widening of eyes giving him away._

_Stiles grabs him by the face and slams him against the wall of the bypass, his well-defined muscles nothing but meaningless shapes when faced with Stiles’ Alpha strength. “What are you?” he growls, eyes flashing a little brighter as he lets just a bit of tooth and claw out. “You reek of reek of wolf, but there’s a coyote aftertaste that’s burning my nose.” Malia makes an indignant noise and Stiles throws her a cheeky wink over his shoulder._

_The mutt wiggles in his grip, eyes flashing gold in distress. Stiles doesn’t know if it’s because he’s been found out or because Stiles is hurting him, and Stiles doesn’t really care. “I’m a werewolf!” he insists, face half shifting._

_Growling low and no longer playing, Stiles’ hold on his face turns biting, tips of claws breaking the skin over his fine cheekbone. “I can smell the innocent blood on you,” Stiles hisses. “What. Are. You? Who sent you here? I remember Theo Raeken, and you don’t fit the bill.”_

_“I swear I’m telling the truth!”_

_Stiles’ hand tightens just enough that even from a few feet away the others can hear bones grinding, starting to crack as the mutt whines in pain, eyes flickering from gold to his normal green and back again. “You’re lying,” Stiles hums. “Do I have to make it so you can’t lie to me?” He lets the rest of his fangs grow in for emphasis._

_Theo’s eyes go wide. Stiles can tell that, whatever Theo had planned? it had gone South very, very quickly._

-

Theo yelping in pain snaps Stiles out of it, and he whips his hands away when he sees the beads of blood welling up on Theo’s face where his claws had been. “Oh my god, I…” Stiles’ inner wolf is rumbling in distress at hurting its mate. “Oh, Theo… I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Theo mumbles, face already healing. He even smiles minutely. “You’ve been through a lot in the past twenty-four hours. I’m not surprised you’ve gone a little crazy.” There are a few derivative giggles from around the room, and Theo tacks on, “…er than usual.” And he finally breaks out into a real smile at the affronted look on Stiles’ face, which causes the last of the tension in Stiles’ body to melt away.

His brains is still uneasy, not really sure one hundred percent what’s dream and what’s reality. Everything here is different to what was there; people who are here and alive who shouldn’t be, people who should be here who aren’t, people who are what they shouldn’t be. It feels like a really bad book-to-movie adaption if he’s honest with himself, and that thought makes him laugh lowly and shake his head. “Did you say something about Lydia, Theo?”

Theo nods, moving away from the wall and closer to Stiles, their knees and shoulders touching. He seems to be much better now that he knows his mate and Alpha isn’t going to attack him again. “Yeah. She’ll probably know what’s going on up in there.” He taps Stiles on the forehead, the motion smooth like it’s a much-repeated gesture. Stiles responds by bumping his nose against Theo’s palm instinctually, his wolf angrily snapping at the Other Stiles and his suspicions to shut the fuck up.

“He should probably go and see The Doc, too,” Jackson butts in, the little moment killer. “Just in case anyone forgot about the giant spear we pulled out of him.” Isacc smacks him up the back of the head with a roll of his eyes, and they snap their teeth playfully at each other.

Brett steps forwards and separates the two with a fond look that suggests this happens all the time. “He’s right though, they’ve been using stronger blends of wolfsbane lately. It’s been taking longer and longer to heal from them.”

The same Beta who had comforted Theo never once leaves Brett’s elbow, looking both like a guard and a mate at once. Stiles tilts his head in consideration when he finally realises that it’s Liam. Brett’s other Beta, who has remained completely silent throughout the entire situation as nothing more than a thin slip of a shadow standing protectively over the Alpha, Stiles recognises as Brett’s little sister. Her name escapes him, but there’s no mistaking the set of her eyes or the unnatural height.

Idly, Stiles wonders where Brett’s Alpha powers come from. Lydia will know. Lydia will know everything, and he can finally clear up this ridiculous confusing mess.

“Take me to Lydia,” he says, standing and then turning to help Theo up, pausing to hold the Beta against him for a moment. It feels right, his wolf sighing contentedly. It’s not an order, but the others treat it as such, all of them springing into action, some cleaning, some heading off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving Stiles with Theo, Malia, and Brett, who sends Liam and his sister off with a kiss and a murmured word respectively.

“This way,” Malia grabs Stiles’ elbow and leads him to the elevator, the four of them riding down in silence. “Lydia will be thrilled that you’re okay. She said before we left yesterday that she’d had a Feeling, but that it was too weak for her to really focus on it.” Stiles can hear the capitalisation in her tone of voice.

The elevator stops and they get out on one of the lower floors that Stiles realises he’d never visited in the Other Place. It’s almost uncomfortably hot down here, like there’s a raging furnace in one of the rooms, but it doesn’t seem to affect the others, so he guesses that it’s normal. Malia pushes open a door decorated with small red and orange flowers, and hurriedly steps back, which makes Stiles frown.

“Sorry,” she says, catching his attention. “It pays to be alittle careful around them at night, just in case.”

“Them?” Stiles wonders aloud, but the other three remain silent. Brett nods towards the door, and Stiles walks up to it, putting his hand on the overly-warm wood and pushing it open fully.

He’s greeted instantly by a series of low, threatening growls that almost having him back-tracking away from the door, but a soothing, familiar voice murmurs, “Quiet, quiet. It’s just Stiles.”

“Lydia,” Stiles breathes.

“Come in, Alpha Stilinski,” her teasing floats out. “Don’t be letting all the warmth out.”

Smiling, Stiles walks into the room and flashes the others a reassuring look before closing the door. It’s just Lydia – what harm could she possibly do? Stiles turns around to greet the banshee, and nearly screams himself.

There’s a giant, hulking black dog sitting in the middle of the floor, eyes on fire and huge, sharp white teeth bared.

“That was unexpected,” Stiles mutters to himself, hand pressed to his chest. “Lydia?” he calls tentatively, trying to peer around the monstrous dog. _Not a dog_ , the wolf supplies. _Hellhound_. “Parrish,” he murmurs. “That makes sense.”

“Don’t just stand there talking to yourself,” Lydia berates him. “Come around so I can see you.”

Carefully, Stiles edges around Parrish, who watches him with eyes narrowed before settling down on his haunches and huffing into his paws. Finally, Stiles can see Lydia. And he freezes, not entirely sure what he’s looking at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two up June 2nd, hopefully. Comments/Kudos appreciated <3


	3. Playing With My Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “‘The Wish’,” Lydia corrects him automatically, because of course the most important thing in this moment is that his Buffy the Vampire Slayer knowledge is correct. “‘Doppelganger’ is when the evil Willow and the good Willow trade places.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy, a day earlier than estimated. Score! Thank you so much to everyone who's commented and left kudos, you all motivate me so much to get this completely finished. This chapter is way longer than the others, and hopefully starts getting the plot in motion. And, yes, the Buffy stuff is in this chapter, hence the Buffy quote as a chapter title. There's some Steo in this one, too. Finally. I just wanted to note to anyone reading this for the Sterek tag (which I keep changing, I'm sorry), it's 100% a background pairing, just in the flashbacks, so don't get your hopes up or anything. I've also turned this into a series, because I've already got a sequel in the works! Anyway, I'll quit rambling and let you get on with it. Hope you guys enjoy it. Ciao, loves xx

Logically, Stiles knows that he’s looking at Lydia. He knows that. Her hair, her voice, even her scent – which he’d never know as a human, but the wolf seems to recognise – is Lydia through and through. It’s her eyes that are throwing him, and her hands.

Her eyes are sunken like she’s been awake too long, irises overly large and round, vividly ringed in black and shining a bright silver, even in the dark. She hardly blinks. _She’s become more banshee than she is human_ , the wolf murmurs. Lydia waves Stiles forwards impatiently, and Stiles watches her hands as they move through the air, fingers bone thin and flecked with blood. “It’s rude to stare you know,” she snaps at him, finally making him take the last few steps so he’s standing directly in front of him.

“S-sorry,” Stiles’ voice hitches, and he wonders just how he’s the Alpha of a pack if his damn voice is still behaving like he’s thirteen. “Hi.”

Lydia rolls her freaky banshee eyes and Stiles’ skin crawls. “Honestly. It’s like you haven’t seen me at all in the last two years.” She laughs, and then catches the awkward look on Stiles’ face. “Oh my god, you have no memories from the last two years, do you?”

Resisting the urge to blurt out, ‘You really are the brightest witch of your age,’ Stiles nods, and then shrugs. “More like from the last four years. And instead I have memories from…uh, another place? Another time? I don’t know. I woke up and thought I’d fallen into the most horrible nightmare imaginable, and I have since been informed that this is reality.”

“Well,” Lydia’s voice pops, and Parrish makes a questioning rumble, lifting his head up to look at her. “That’s bad.” She crooks a finger, and Stiles stumbles until he’s almost in her lap, earning himself a warning growl from the hellhound. He growls back, eyes flashing, and Lydia clucks her tongue at them. “Boys, behave,” she sighs. Gently, she takes Stiles’ hand and turns it over in her spindly fingers, accidentally smearing trails of red on his freckly skin.

“Where did the blood come from?” Stiles asks quietly.

Lydia hums, staring intently at his hand. “I was washing your clothes while you were all out,” she says, like that explains everything. Maybe it does.

_-_

_“That is disgusting,” Lydia mutters after Stiles has finished reading the passage from the book. “I am not doing that. No way in hell.”_

_Stiles huffs, snapping the book closed. “Oh come on, please? You never know, it might unlock some of your mystical banshee powers.”_

_Lydia purses her lips, and even as an Alpha that makes Stiles back pedal a little. “You, the great and mighty Alpha who thought that a sleepover in Eichen House was a good idea, think that I will magically understand more of my abilities if I_ wash your clothes in blood?! _” If banshees could cause death half as well as they could predict it, Stiles would be dead from the intensity of her glare, wolf healing or no._

_“Yes?” he tries, face already scrunched up in preparation for incoming attacks._

_Instead of responding, Lydia snatches the book out of his hands and reads the chapter on banshees herself. “Hm.” She narrows her eyes, the green slightly dulled by fatigue. “I’m not saying to get me a bucket of blood and your lacrosse jersey right this very second, but if you’re ever going into a dangerous situation I might try it.” Before Stiles can excitedly say anything, she adds, “But_ only _if I’m deathly worried and it’s a last resort. Do you understand me?”_

_“Totally,” Stiles insists, making a crossing gesture over his heart. “Now, have you considered my theory on pitched wailing to interpret different_ kinds _of deaths?’_

_Lydia throws the book at his head._

_-_

“You were worried about us?” Stiles asks, head cocked. “What were we doing?”

Lydia ignores him, still inspecting his hand like she’s going to find all the answers there. Knowing Lydia, she probably will. She’s frowning, brows creased and bottom lip caught between her teeth, and Parrish grumbles deep in his belly, lumbering up to his feet and padding over to curl up around her chair, monstrous head in her lap. She moves one hand from Stiles’ to absently rub the hellhound’s ear between her fingers, relaxing slightly the moment he touches her. “What was the other place like?” Lydia murmurs, prodding at the fleshy part of Stiles’ palm with a blood-flecked nail.

“It’s funny,” Stiles says to her, voice cracking again, barely above a whisper. He feels like he wants to yell or scream, like maybe that will help him understand what’s going on, but Lydia looks like she’ll shatter from a loud enough yell, and then Parrish will eat him. “I feel like I’m in that episode of Buffy. You know, ‘Doppelganger’. Where Buffy never came to Sunnydale and everyone is evil. And slightly gay.”

“‘The Wish’,” Lydia corrects him automatically, because of course the most important thing in this moment is that his Buffy the Vampire Slayer knowledge is correct. “‘Doppelganger’ is when the evil Willow and the good Willow trade places.”

Stiles blinks. “I feel like that is exactly what’s happened. I remember barely anything from here, but the Other Place is still fresh in my mind. The last think I remember saying over there is ‘I wish I’d been bitten instead of you!’”

“Who were you talking to?” Lydia asks, finally looking up from Stiles’ hand. Her eyes are still freaking him out, but he’s rapidly getting used to them.

“Scott,” he answers truthfully. “He’s a True Alpha and all that-” he trails off on ‘jazz’ in confusion when Lydia drops his hand like she’s been burnt.

Parrish’s head jerks up and he licks Lydia’s cheek like he’s trying to ask her if she’s okay.

“S-Scott?” she whispers, eyes crossing slightly as she gazes unfocusedly at some point just over Stiles’ shoulder. Her freaky eyes make it look like she’s staring across time and space into the world Stiles thought was his reality. Maybe it’ll make her be able to explain to him what’s going on. But, almost as soon as it’s come, it’s gone, and Lydia blinks herself back into the room. “We need to get your memories back,” she says gravely, suddenly clutching Stiles’ hands so tightly he’s afraid she’ll crack bones even with the werewolf healing. “Before they try to manipulate you.”

“They?” Stiles’ pet peeve is the omnipotent ‘they’ everyone refers to. “Who the fuck is ‘they’?”

Lydia pulls him so close he nearly puts his elbow in Parrish’s eye and he and Lydia are nose to nose. “The Argents. They’re trying to break you to get to us.” She flicks her eyes down to Parrish, who is drooling on her skirt. “They want all of us.

 -

_Pain flares up Stiles’ arm and he’s screamed before he even registers that a real, actual arrow shaft has impaled his arm to a tree. “Fuck!”_

_A terrifying whizzing noise filters into his hearing, and someone yells, ‘Stiles, your eyes!’ but he can’t react fast enough and suddenly there’s a thud and a bang as another arrow hits the tree above his head, the end exploding in a blinding flash of light. Eyes watering, Stiles squints as blurry figures seem to emerge from the darkness, advancing towards him steadily._

_They’re hunters. Stiles curses himself for not listening to Derek’s warning, for letting his ridiculously suspicious nature get the best of him and refusing help from someone who knows the supernatural world literally like the back of his hand. It’s not Stiles’ fault that pretty faces make him question everything; it’s a carefully developed survival technique._

Not the time, Stiles, _he reprimands himself, giving his arm an experimental tug, crying out as the white hot pain shoots all the way up to his shoulder and down to his wrist, his fingers twitching._

_The lead hunter is close enough that even with his streaming eyes and blurred vision, Stiles can make out his face. And his stomach drops out the soles of his shoes. It’s Chris Argent; the new weapons supplier for the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department. Double fucked oreos._

_Argent raises his crossbow, face carefully neutral, and Stiles screws his face up. Two weeks as a werewolf and it was all about to be over._

_The arrow never hits._

_With a deafening roar, Derek suddenly materialises in front of him, catching the bolt and snapping it before wrenching Stiles’ arm free and hauling the teen over his shoulder before high-tailing it out of the clearing. “You stupid idiot!” Derek rages, dumping Stiles in a pile of leaves unceremoniously. “If you want to survive, you need to learn to listen!”_

-

“They’re coming back on their own,” Stiles breathes, mind still stuck on the hard look in Chris’ eyes as he’d aimed his crossbow. In the Other Place, Stiles had only really known Chris when he’d swapped sides, but Scott had told him about his not-so pleasant encounters with the hunter. “Very slowly, and they’re usually triggered by someone mentioning something pivotal that’s different here than in my…uh. My other memories?” He groans. “Fuck, this is confusing.”

Lydia thoughtfully stroke’s Parrish’s muzzle, and about a hundred questions pop into Stiles’ head about this ‘reality’. Like why Parrish is in full hellhound shape. Why is Theo not a vaguely creepy evil douche canoe? Why is Brett an Alpha? Why is _Stiles_ an Alpha? Actually, that’s a question he wants left unanswered as long as possible, not sure if he’s willing to hear the answer. He can feel that he’s not a True Alpha the way Scott was in the Other Place, and Stiles doesn’t want to know who he killed to end up the way he is.

“How did Brett become an Alpha?” he asks instead, curiosity piqued. “What happened to Satomi?” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d been kind of hoping to see Satomi, too. Ask her a few questions about all of this.

“Satomi was killed during the dead pool,” Lydia explains, and it’s ironically comforting to know that at least parts of Stiles’ two realities line up, even if it is one of the scariest experiences of his life. “Brett’s mother was the Alpha of her pack before she was killed, and he inherited her powers when he was no longer the Beta to Satomi’s Alpha.”

Makes sense. “Did… Did I bite Liam? Mason? Why are Liam’s eyes blue? How come Jackson and the twins are here?” Before he can stop himself, all his questions come pouring out, and Lydia holds up a hand for silence, eyes wide and looking a little overwhelmed.

“Slow down, my god.” She makes a face at him. “It’s all a long, long story. And… I think you need to wait for your memories to come back.” She shakes her head, hair shifting and tickling Parrish’s nose. He snorts it away and Lydia bats him gently on the head. “If I try and tell you, I’ll get it all wrong. But…” She wrinkles her nose. “I think I know why they’re gone. I think the Argents have poisoned you with one of their new spliced wolfsbanes to replace your real memories with fake ones.”

Stiles frowns. “Why the hell would they do that?”

“I told you,” Lydia says. “They want us all. They want to kill us.”

“Right, of course.” Stiles sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Story of my life, right? No matter what reality I’m in.” He scrubs his hands over his face. “I should get back to the others. Let them know what we think is going on. See you..?” he trails off, not sure if Lydia actually leaves the room.

“At breakfast,” she chirps. “When this one is human again.” She affectionately bobs Parrish on the nose and he grumbles softly, nudging her leg with a massive paw playfully.

“Alrighty,” Stiles says. And, again, it’s like instinct or muscle memory or something takes over, because he leans forwards and presses his forehead to Lydia’s, and then kisses her cheek. “Night, Lydia.” He turns on his heel and makes to leave, but stops in his tracks. “I. The other me. When he said that to Scott, that he wishes he had been bitten… I don’t think this reality is anything like what he had in mind.” He stares resolutely at the door. “And, in all honesty, I’m scared to find out more about it.”

Lydia doesn’t reply beyond a soft, “Goodnight, Stiles.”

Stiles leans against the wooden door when it’s swung shut, trying to steady his breathing.

-

Theo is the only one still waiting outside when Stiles finally pulls his hands away from his face, offering a small smile and a warm hand on his elbow. “You okay?”

“No,” Stiles answers honestly. It feels natural to be so open around Theo, and he’s never felt at ease being completely honest with anyone other than Scott. Well, Scott in the Other Place, anyway. “Everything’s all fucked in my head.”

“No different from usual, then,” Theo jokes quietly. Almost tentatively, they share a knowing grin, and Stiles can maybe see how this version of himself managed to fall in love with this Theo. He still has that same wry grin and cheeky, confident demeanour, but lacked that unnervingly sinister edge the Theo from Stiles’ other memories had. “Did Lydia know what’s going on inside that jumpy head of yours?”

Shrugging, Stiles pushes off from the door and starts heading for the elevator, Theo matching his pace, face pinched with worry. “She has a theory, at least. Thinks the Argents are trying to manipulate my memories or something to get to the rest of you.”

Theo makes a strange noise, high in his throat, and suddenly his hand is clamped around Stiles’ bicep like he’s trying to ground himself. When Stiles turns to look at him, his eyes have flashed bright blue again and he looks scared. It’s a look that Stiles hasn’t seen on him very often.

“Whoa, whoa, what am I missing? I get that they’re hunters, but there’s something else going on here, right?” Stiles moves so that he’s standing in front of Theo, hands on his elbows so he can’t look away. “Theo.” His eyes flash red again – he’s beginning to feel the difference – and Theo starts breathing again. “Hey, what’s going on? My memories are coming back, but it’s slow. You guys are gonna have to fill me in, occasionally.” He steps a little closer to Theo, bumping their foreheads together before pulling back a little. “Don’t keep stuff from me, okay?”

“Haven’t in a year and don’t plan on starting now,” Theo reassures him. “Promise. It’s just… the last time we, uh, _met_ with the Argents, you ended up with a four-foot spear being rammed through you, so, you know. Makes me wonder what their ultimate plan is. They must have known that a simple spear laced with wolfsbane wouldn’t kill you.”

Before they can talk further, the elevator slows to a stop at the loft, and Stiles pulls Theo out with a smile and fingers wrapped loosely around his wrist. “Something smells good,” Stiles announces as they walk further into the room.

After the chaos of the past few hours, it seems almost hysterical to Stiles that they sit down at the -admittedly, quite scratched up – dining table to eat as a pack. It’s a basic meal, some sort of roast and some baked vegetables with a few spoons of gravy each, and Malia taps the side of her nose and produces a bottle of wine from somewhere which causes Kira to roll her eyes and scuff the coyote fondly over the head before kissing her cheek and accepting a glass. They even laugh at the bitter complaints from Brett and his sister (who Stiles abruptly remembers is called Lori), Liam, and Mason when Isaac clucks his tongue at Malia before she can pour the wine into their glasses, citing the fact that they’re all still technically underage.

Stiles sits at the head of the table with Theo and Malia to his left, and Brett, Liam, and Lori to his right as the visiting guests, and watches the whole meal as if he’s in a different plane of existence to his pack around him. His body is used to this. His body recognises this as a regular occurrence. His mind is starting to recognise it, but he just can’t shake the damn memories from the Other Place telling him that it’s wrong, wrong, wrong, _wrong_. That something’s missing.

Wait.

“Where… where’s my dad?” Stiles blurts out around a mouthful of mashed potato. A glob of it lands near Mason and he makes a face. No one answers his question. “Where’s my dad?” he asks again, accidentally Alpha-ing out again.

“I’ll take you to see him,” Theo says, hand jolting out to touch Stiles’ bicep. “He’s fine, I promise. It’s just complicated. And you’re the one who told us to stay away from him, so I’m technically going against your orders here.”

“Can we go now?” Stiles is a little impatient, okay? He feels majorly guilty for only just now thinking of his father.

Malia points her fork at him threateningly. “Finish your vegetables, you got stabbed today and you need to get your strength back.” This is followed by a snort of laughter from the end of the table, and Stiles glares at the twins, who are both innocently shredding their food and staring off in different directions.

Glare fading, Stiles looks down at his plate awkwardly, pushes his food around with his knife. “Please?” he murmurs. “I just wanna see him.”

Brett sets his cutlery down. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll stay here a little longer and hold the fort for you, alright? I think Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb want to spend some time together anyway.” He points at Liam and Mason, and their twin pouting expressions at the nicknames elicit a soft giggle from Stiles, who nods at this plan.

He can’t help thinking that Brett is a much better Alpha than he seems to be. Stiles makes plans to sit down with the younger wolf at some point and talk about the whole Alpha business. Some time when he’s not teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown and, hopefully, when he has all his memories sorted out and intact again.

“Come on,” Theo says, pushing his chair away and standing up. “We’ve gotta take a plate down for Boyd, so you can eat on the way.”

This brightens Stiles’ mood considerably. “Boyd’s here? Like, he’s alive?” This is fantastic! If Boyd is still alive here, then maybe _she_ is too. “What about Er-”

There’s a hiss from Isaac, and Jackson shakes his head, hand settling on Isaac’s shoulder. ‘Don’t,’ he mouths.

Bad mood is back.

The twins suddenly look very uncomfortable, and Ethan stands too. “I’ll go ahead of you and talk to the Doc about all this. You should come see him one your way back here, okay?”

Now that the name has been mentioned again, Stiles is a little interested in finding out who this ‘Doc’ is. Probably Deaton, but he can never be sure.

“Alright. Alright, let’s go see my dad,” Stiles declares, finally getting to his feet. “Lead the way, Theo.”

-

Boyd’s look of relief at seeing Stiles alive and well sticks with him as he and Theo creep through the streets of Beacon Hills. It’s no different than how Stiles remembers it. It’s also completely empty as far as he can see, but that’s probably because it’s going on two in the morning, and most normal, non-supernatural beings are in bed. Where Stiles would really like to be. Fatigue and exhaustion are starting to sink into his bones, but the want to see his dad is keeping him going.

Theo comes to a stop on the crest of the small hill beside the station, the two of them hidden from sight by the sparse shrubbery and other plant life around them. “See,” Theo breathes, pointing through the bushes. “There he is, fretting over something at his desk.” He moves out of the way so Stiles can look.

True to his word, John Stilinski is slumped at his desk, surrounded by papers and empty coffee cups, another one tilting dangerously to the side in his hand. More of the tension in Stiles’ chest melts away. His dad is alive. His dad is _safe_. “Hey, is Parrish still a deputy?”

Theo shakes his head. “Your dad fired him last year to keep him safe. He’s kind of like our guard dog. Hellhound. Whatever. He transforms at night and he usually stays in with Lydia if there’s nothing for him to, you know, _attend to_.” He breaks off with a wilted sigh. “We thought he might have had to come out tonight.” He’s not looking at Stiles, but Stiles knows that they all thought he might not have woken up.

Without thinking, he crowds into Theo’s personal space and wraps him up in a hug, arms locked around his shoulders. Theo starts, but his own arms link around Stiles’ waist, hands resting at the dip of his spine. Stiles’ rests their heads together and closes his eyes, scenting the Beta, his mate. When their lips meet, there are no fireworks. The Earth doesn’t move. Flowers don’t start blooming, and there’s no choir of angels. It just feels warm, all the way down to Stiles’ toes, like hot tea on a cold night.

It feels right.

-

_“Fuck’s sake, Raeken,” Stiles growls as he drags Theo’s unconscious body towards the clinic. “I swear to god, if you die before I get to yell at you for being fucking stupid, I’m going to resurrect you myself and then kill you again.” He growls in frustration, finding the mountain ash barrier to be closed. “Of fuck off, are you serious?” Banging on the door, he bellows, “Yo, Doc, open the fuck up!” and he hears a faint grumbling reply._

_Theo groans faintly, eyes flickering under his eyelids._

_Stiles narrows his eyes and points at him, even though it’s really a useless gesture. “You suck. I regret ever giving you the Bite. Oh my god.” Theo remains completely out of it. “Seriously, you need to stop jumping in front of me every time someone aims a gun at my head. Because that happens a lot. And you can’t always be there to do it.” Resolutely, he does not look at the smoking bullet hole in Theo’s stomach. Fucking Argents._

_The door swings open and Ethan’s on the other side, face lined with worry. “Come on, he’s getting the table set up.” He grabs Theo’s ankles and helps Stiles carry him into the examination room. There’s an overwhelming smell of cleaning product in the room still, and Stiles tries not to think of what almost happened to Lydia. “Sorry about the smell. He had a fit last night and needed to clean everything again.” He holds up his hands, and Stiles can see chemical burns healing all over his fingers. “I got to use the bleach, yay,” Ethan drawls._

_“S-Stiles…” Theo croaks, and Stiles flies over to the table, hovering over the Beta, as he seems to flicker in and out of consciousness. “Stiles ‘m sorry…”_

_Stiles feels like there’s a rock in his throat, and he shakily picks up one of Theo’s hands, covers it with both of his and starts sapping his pain away. “Shut up,” he tries to snap, but it comes out all watery and reedy. “Just focus on not dying, please. I still need to yell at you.”_

_Ethan makes a tactical retreat into the back room to help the Doc carry all his equipment in._

_“Hurts,” Theo whines._

_“I know,” Stiles whispers. “I’m taking it away, but I can’t keep up with it.”_

_Theo coughs wetly. “S’okay…” His head lolls to the side, eyes closing again. Stiles can hear his heart starting to stutter._

_“Doc!” he yells over his shoulder, eyes flashing at no one. “Can you hurry it up, maybe?!”  He turns back to Theo, and his breathing has become laboured in the ten seconds Stiles wasn’t paying attention to it. Stiles’ wolf starts whining in his head as he holds Theo’s hand a little bit tighter. “Hey, hey. You’re not allowed to die.” He presses his lips to Theo’s knuckles, eyes starting to burn. “Not yet.”_

_-_

Stiles kisses Theo with more vigour when the memory fades away, the ghost of his worry and fear plaguing him.

Of course, that’s when people start shooting at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, cliff-hanger. Next chapter up June 10/11! Comments and kudos always appreciated <3


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